An Unlikely Affair
by FlashFiction
Summary: A collection of unlikely pairing drabbles for the "Creepy Pairing of the Day" challenge at the Harry Potter FanFiction Challenge Forum.
1. LockhartUmbridge

**Lockhart/Umbridge **

Dolores Umbridge pulled on one of her pink shoes; it had been cast aside in the fiery blur that was last night and she was pleasantly surprised to find that the heel had not been broken. She straightened the bow around her neck and prepared to stand up. The body in the bed stirred and sat up; Gilderoy Lockhart ran one hand through his wavy blonde hair and yawned.

"You're leaving?" he asked.

"My day continues on," Dolores said with a small laugh.

Gilderoy slid closer and gently touched her arm.

"And the matter we discussed?" he whispered, his lips close to her ear.

Dolores sighed and stood up, Gilderoy's hand falling abruptly off her.

"I wouldn't expect the matter to go any further," she said nonchalantly, "I honestly don't think that you're Wizengamot material."

Gilderoy frowned.

"But I thought-" he began.

Dolores spun around.

"You thought," she said slowly, "that because I'm a woman and not exactly pretty that I would be terribly flattered and grateful for your advances, which would then lead me to bend to your every will."

Gilderoy was speechless.

"But I am so much more than just a woman," Dolores continued, "and so much more than merely 'not exactly pretty'."

She picked up her handbag and went to the door.

"This round didn't really go in your favour, did it?" the witch said, as she left, "I suggest, Mr Lockhart, that you get some better cards."


	2. SybillMinerva

**Sybill/Minerva **

Some people, Minerva McGonagall was sure, actively tried to be infuriating. For the way in which Sybill Trelawney floated through the world on a cloud of self-righteousness could not be anything other than clever design.

"For the last time, Sybill," the former witch hissed, "you can not claim a moral victory in chess!"

Sybill looked indignant.

"I like to think that my pieces enjoyed the game more," she explained, "and that's what counts."

"No it bloody well isn't!" Minerva said, physically feeling the annoyance building up inside of her.

"Well, why did you ask me to play then?" Sybill asked, crossing her arms.

Minerva sighed an angry sigh. She wasn't exactly sure now.

"I had some stupid idea it could be fun," she said, "I won't be making that mistake again!"

"You're so narrow-minded," Sybill scowled.

"And you're so completely insufferable," Minerva shot back.

"Blinkered."

"Spacey."

"Uptight."

"Flighty."

"Bossy."

"Cryptic."

"Have dinner with me."

"What?"

Minerva was stunned into silence. The seer repeated the statement.

"Have dinner with me," her voice was calm and a little hesitant, but there was definitely no question in it.

Minerva stared at her; the same curious inkling that convinced her to invite Sybill to play chess appeared in her chest.

"Can there be moral victories in dinner?" she asked with a small, teasing smile.

"No," Sybill replied with a laugh.

Minerva took a deep breath.

"Alright," she replied.


	3. GreybackPetunia

**Greyback/Petunia**

The sun was sinking on Privet Drive, as Petunia Dursley made her way back up the street, her arms laden with shopping bags. Vernon had taken Dudley out in the car, only minutes before Petunia had decided that she needed to get some more groceries; they were being shipped off by some of Harry's people in a few days after all and she had no idea what kind of food they ate. Harry had told her not to leave the house alone, but she hadn't listened; the idea of being stuck for god-knows how long without her specific brand of tea was unthinkable.

Going without the car might've been a mistake though, she thought as she struggled to keep everything in her hands.

"Do you need help with those?"

Petunia started. A man had appeared from nowhere, his hair long and matted, his clothes ripped. He looked almost feral! Petunia hesitated; there was something intelligent in his eyes and something else in his voice.

"Yes, thank you," she replied finally, "I'm headed just up the street."

As the man took the bag from her, his fingers brushed over her palm and Petunia gave an involuntary shiver, as if a small bolt of electricity had just been sent through her body.

"What's your name?" the man asked.

"Petunia," she replied.

"It figures," he said, in response to a questioning look, "A flower. Beautiful."

When they reached Number 4, Petunia went to take the bag back. The man gently wrapped his hand around her wrist and held her to the spot, his eyes running over her face. Petunia felt the breath catch in her throat. Suddenly he let her go, slipping the plastic handles over her wrist and stepping back with a slight bow. Petunia, slightly terrified and completely exhilarated, stumbled back to the house.

Fenrir Greyback watched her go, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, the Muggle woman had made him remember what it was like to not have this curse running through his veins. Odd, that somebody could still do that after so long. Fenrir walked away; the Muggle woman would live. For now.


	4. DumbledoreFilch

**Author's Note: **This turned into quite a long one, even though I at first struggled with inspiration. I've added in some Minerva friendship, because everything is made better with a dash of McGonagall!

**Dumbledore/Filch**

Argus Filch tried not to cower as he sat before the desk of the great Albus Dumbledore. He had never been particularly outspoken, but a side effect of being around the latter wizard was that he seemed all control of his verbal abilities and resort to unintelligent babbling; fortunately, this was not one of those times, with Argus instead falling into a deafening silence. Those deep, sparkly blue eyes stared at him, their gaze seeming to encase all of him in something unfamiliar and frightening, though not all together unpleasant.

"You lied to me," Albus said, calmly but with a small hint of coldness.

Argus felt a jolt in his stomach.

"How long have you known?" he asked quietly.

"About a month," Albus replied, "A few others had noted it too. We felt it was only fair to inform you."

A cringe worked its way through all of Argus' body. He hated the slight disappointment in his employer's voice; of course, he expected it, when people found out (maybe that was why he was disposed to be inherently cold to people), but for some reason it really hurt coming from this source.

"I'm sorry, sir," Argus whispered, "I really needed this job and I didn't think you'd hire me if you knew that I couldn't-"

His voice faltered.

"I'm sorry," he continued, "I'll go and pack my things."

"You will do nothing of the sort!" Albus exclaimed, "You have a job here, Mr Filch, and I'd like you to continue doing it."

When Argus looked into Albus' eyes, he saw something new, something kind. His respect for the man rose, though the jolting in his abdomen did not desist.

"Thank you, sir," he said, standing up to leave "I won't let you down."

Albus watched him leave, a strange kind of affection in his gaze. He was quick to shake it out as Minerva McGonagall came into the office.

"You told him then?" she said.

"I told him that we knew," Albus nodded.

Minerva raised an eyebrow.

"And about you?" she asked.

Albus sighed, running two fingers across his temple.

"No."

"You know that he feels the same way?" Minerva said, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder, "I've seen him in staff meetings; he doesn't stop staring at you."

"That's usually because I'm always talking," Albus countered.

"I think you should tell him," Minerva said softly.

Albus shook his head; his infatuation with the new caretaker would pass. It had to.

"He's a Squib, Minerva," the headmaster said, a hard edge in his voice, "Society is going to be cruel enough to him without me forcing him to identify with another oppressed minority."

Minerva's eyes were full of concern as she said, with a sigh, "sometimes I really dislike society."

Albus gave a small chuckle, though there was no mirth in it.

"Me too."


	5. MinervaHarry

**Author's Note: **So this is a little one-sided Harry crushing on his teacher. For those of you who don't know the game (it can be devilish, I tell you), Shoot, Shag, Marry is as it sounds; you have three people and you have to shoot one, shag one and marry one.

**Minerva/Harry **

"Madam Hooch, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall."

Harry Potter had never played 'Shoot, Shag, Marry" before and he wasn't entirely sure if he liked it, especially not after the Weasley twins started bringing teachers into it; it had been an easy enough decision to shoot Snape, shag Sinistra and marry Sprout, but this lineup was much more tricky. As soon as his head of house's name had been uttered, Harry had to physically try not to blush at the thought of choosing to shag her. The idea of marrying her gave him a similarly queasy feeling.

"That's easy," Fred declared, "you shag Hooch, because that old witch still has mad game, you marry Pomfrey, because she'd take really good care of you, and you shoot McGonagall because she's so tough she probably wouldn't feel it anyway."

There was a general murmur of consensus and Harry was glad that he wouldn't have to make more of a contribution; he didn't trust himself when it came to what he might reveal.

Along in the staffroom, a similar conversation was happening between two teachers.

"Rolanda, I'm not sure this is at all appropriate," Minerva McGonagall said hesitantly.

Rolanda Hooch brushed the comment away with a wave of her hand.

"Shoot, shag, marry," she said, "Ron Weasley, Harry Potter and, ah, one of the Weasley twins."

"They are two different people," Minerva said with a dry laugh, "You know that right?"

"Fine, fine," Rolanda nodded, "Fred then. Ron, Harry and Fred."

"Well, you'd shag Fred, wouldn't you?" Minerva said casually, before a scandalized look came over her face (she definitely hadn't meant to answer that as quickly as she had).

Making the other decision was much harder; she cared about the boys as students and people, but (quite rightly) had never thought about them in any other light. And she definitely had no impulse to kill either one!

"I suppose," she said hesitantly, "that I would marry Ron and shoot Harry, mostly because Harry survived a killing curse, so one would assume that he could survive a tiny piece of metal."

Rolanda grinned.

"He wouldn't like that," she said, with a sly look about her, "I reckon the Potter boy has a crush on you."

Minerva went slightly red.

"Of course he doesn't!" she insisted, but Rolanda shook her head.

"No," the Quidditch mistress said with confidence, "I bet if he were playing this game, you'd be the one he shagged. Or worse, married."

Minerva didn't know how to respond to that. The idea of a student having a crush on her was flattering, she supposed, but not exactly desired. She gave a sigh; it was not going to be easy to look Harry in the eye during Transfiguration tomorrow!


	6. PeterAlecto

**Alecto/Peter**

The pain shot through him, a burning sensation like he had experienced. Peter Pettigrew lay on the floor, shivering and cowering, his arm clenched to his chest. When he drew it away slowly, he saw the black outlines of a dancing snake etched into his forearm; it was done, official. He had had no idea just how much it would hurt.

Peter felt a shadow come over him. He rolled slightly to see who it was; a woman, short and slightly stocky, stood over him. She wasn't attractive, not by a long shot, and Peter did not think much of her. Not, at least, until he saw her eyes; blue, clear, incredibly cold. Like her entire face, they held a sense of dignity and projected disdain. Staring into them, it was like ice had been poured over him, and Peter thought, with a jolt, that he would follow them anywhere.

"Stand," the woman said, her voice low and dignified, a tone of superiority, "And stop whimpering. Hold up your head; you serve the Dark Lord now."

Peter tried to stand but could not, his whole body still aching.

"I can't," he whispered, his voice hoarse, "It hurts so much."

"Pain is the price one pays for service," the woman hissed back at him, "Pain is the price of devotion."

She turned on her heel and stalked away.

Pain is the price of devotion. Those words stuck with him; he felt them every time he looked at her, Alecto Carrow, and wished for her to notice him. Every time he wished for her to turn, so he could stare into those eyes of ice and feel new, like diving into a pool of fresh water. And every time she did not turn, did not notice, the pain got stronger and stronger. The pain of his devotion. Still, he reflected bitterly, that was the price.


	7. PomonaSybill

This had been entirely a bad idea. Pomona Sprout sat awkwardly, twiddling her thumbs as the tea was brought out to the table. Sybill Trelawney sat opposite her, gazing around Madam Pudifoot's tea shop; it was not a place she went often and the decor was interesting, if not completely over the top. Pomona smiled slightly at the waitress and then glanced back at Sybill, wondering if she understood exactly why Pomona had asked her here. Was this a date, in the eyes of the Divination teacher, or merely a cup of tea between colleagues? Pomona was not sure and so, instead of risking the potential embarrassment of asking, she just sipped her tea in silence. Sybill too sipped her drink, her face not giving anything away. After a while, Pomona felt a need to break the silence between them.

"So, does your tea say anything?" she asked in an attempt at a joke.

The seer gave an indulgent, but superior, smile.

"Sometimes tea is just tea," Sybill said in a slightly mystic voice, "It does not always have to mean something."

Pomona had to keep herself from cringing; was that statement a metaphor for this very meeting?

"And you're sure this cup doesn't mean anything?" the Herbology professor asked, a hint of sadness in her voice.

Sybill did not say anything for a short time. Her eyes, magnified a hundred times by her glasses, stared at Pomona, as if looking right inside her. Pomona hoped to god she wasn't blushing.

"I don't know," Sybill replied after a few seconds.

She smiled, one that was hesitant but also slightly teasing. She leaned in a little closer to Pomona.

"I haven't got to the end of the cup yet," she whispered.


	8. MinervaSinistra

**Minerva/Sinistra **

The air was tense as Aurora Sinistra stormed into the room, her eyes narrow with a mean glint in them.

"You can't just call me into your office like I am some errant schoolgirl, Minerva!" she said aggressively, glaring at the aforementioned witch.

Minerva McGonagall, sitting at her desk, looked up calmly, but with a definite coldness in her already unforgiving features.

"In which case," the older witch said slowly, "I would suggest that you stop acting like one."

She rose, her standing height much taller than Aurora's. Though Minerva made an imposing figure, the younger witch did not back down.

"I can't possibly guess what you mean," Aurora hissed, putting her hands on her hips.

"Then I'll give you a hint," Minerva shot back, her words sharp and cutting, "It involves you sneaking off in the middle of dinner to a secret rendezvous in the woods with a visiting health inspector. It might also include you being spotted by a gaggle of Ravenclaw sixth years and returning to school in the early morning, slightly drunk and missing a shoe."

If any of that was true, Aurora did not look remotely apologetic.

"What I choose to do in my spare time is nobody's business," she said, in the voice of one holding the moral high ground.

Minerva continued to look at her coldly and said, "it's more a case of who you choose to do in your spare time. And where you choose to do it."

Aurora wasn't going to take that lying down.

"I know what this is," she said meanly, "You're just jealous because you thought he was more interested in you! You can't stand that he'd pick me over you; style over substance."

That last comment cut Minerva somewhere inside, the words seeming to embed themselves in her stomach, weighing her down. A foolish person may have pointed out the beginnings of tears in her eyes, but Aurora was not a foolish person. Nor was she entirely unkind; feeling a little guilty, the tension in her body slacken.

"I certainly don't feel that way," Minerva said, her voice hoarse.

Aurora opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. In a few mere seconds, the witch went through the emotions of guilt, confusion, anger and then, finally, spoke in what could only be described as burst of frustration.

"How am I supposed to know that, Minerva?" Aurora cried, "How is anybody supposed to know that? You never say what you feel, you never show anybody what you're feeling! I'd almost say you were physically incapable of letting people in!"

The younger witch was in tears now, shaking from the emotion. Minerva turned away, not wanting to face her. This, to Aurora, was a perfect example of what she had been talking about.

"Why do you do that, Minerva?" she said, her voice uneven as she cried, "Why?"

Aurora ran from the office, slamming the door behind her. Minerva stayed still for a moment, her eyes gently closing.

"Why?" she repeated the question to herself.

Then, like water bursting through the walls of a dam, Minerva gasped, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Her body doubled over in pain and she had to grab for the back of her chair to keep herself steady.

"Why?" she asked again, her eyes moving to spot where the other witch had stood, "Why can't I say I love you?"


End file.
